


A Life For You And Me

by calvinahobbes



Category: Bomb Girls
Genre: Community: femslash12, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calvinahobbes/pseuds/calvinahobbes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Betty buys a house. Kate moves in with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life For You And Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amo_amare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amo_amare/gifts).



> For apple_pathways. I hope you like it!
> 
> This story is technically a season 1 AU where Kate hasn't heard anything from her family.
> 
> Please see the End Notes for additional content notes/ warnings, as they contain spoilers for the fic.
> 
> The title is stolen from the song "The Money's Gone" by Coyote Grace.
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta Kiki_Eng!

In April of 1942 Betty buys a house. It's a small, worn-down place, white paint chipping off the side shingles, the wind slipping through the cracks around the windows, the floors scuffed and worn. The realtor is nice enough, although he looks dubious until he sees her bank book. "A friend and I are going to set up a boarding house for single girls," she tells him, the lie twisting up her lips. But he smiles and nods, and soon enough there is Betty's signature on the dotted line and she has the keys in her hand. 

She floats all the way home to the rooming house, the chill air nipping her cheeks and trapping her breath like smoke in front of her face, but she feels far removed from everything, the people on the street and the sounds of traffic. By the time she makes it home (No. Not home. She has her own home now.), her hands are shaking but she knows it's not from the cold. 

Kate is curled up on her bed, reading a book. The tip of her nose looks red, the way it is when it gets cold in the damp rooming house air. She smiles, so bright and freely, when she looks up and sees Betty enter. "Betty! Where were you? You never said you'd asked to leave early." 

Betty can't reply. She just sits down next to Kate on the bed, freezing even more now that she's finally inside. She huddles into her thin overcoat and fingers the keys in her pocket. "Hold out your hand," she says. 

Kate smiles like it's a wonderful game and even closes her eyes as she does so. Her eyelids flutter, her lashes sweeping over the curve of her cheekbone, and Betty almost runs. Instead she tears her hand out of her pocket and drops the keys onto the palm of Kate's hand. Kate opens her eyes and looks in wonder at the dark heavy metal. 

"I bought a house," Betty blurts. Kate stares at her, surprised but still smiling. "It's small, and it's not very well kept. It needs fixing up, but it's mine. It's _my_ home now. And yours, if you want it." She knows she's frowning, she knows her lips are already pulling downwards, and she never dared to think this far ahead, of what she'd say if Kate didn't say-- 

"Oh, Betty! Yes! Oh, it's so wonderful!" Kate has thrown her arms around her, hugging tight, and Betty gulps in air like she hasn't breathed since she signed the papers. Betty wraps her arms around Kate in return and holds on. 

"What's all the ruckus?" one of the girls asks from the doorway, attracted by Kate's squeal of delight. Soon the whole hall is aflutter with the news, and Betty is dazed and caught up answering a whole slew of questions, Kate's merely one in a crowd of intrigued faces.

***

They move on a Saturday, their half-day. A whole crowd of girls troop up to help them. They borrow a handcart from the factory, and Kate sets off with it piled high with boxes full of clothes and knick-knacks, a gaggle of girls following after, while Betty stays behind to wait for Gladys and her fiancé's car.

By the time they've been by Gregson's store to pick up the bed frames, and have managed -- with the help of Gregson and his oldest boy -- to heave and push the mattresses onto the top of the car, tie them securely, and drive slowly and nervously all the way to house (alternately gasping and cackling wildly as every small bump in the road makes the mattresses tip ominously down over the windshield and spring back up again), Betty is already sore and exhausted. 

The house is abuzz when they get there. Lorna seems to have taken over the cleaning efforts, and is directing girls with as much cool efficiency as she always does at the factory, but the girls are smiling and laughing and not taking her half as seriously as they would at work. There is a brief intermission as they all flock to the car, ready for a break, to let Gladys recount the harrowing tale of the mattress move. Betty doesn't stay to listen but heads inside to take a look. 

The weak spring sunlight is doing wonders on the faded wallpaper. The girls have already put up new crisp blue curtains that are fluttering in the wind from the wide open windows. On the floor in the small bright living room, Kate is crouched, vigorously attacking the worn boards with soapy water. Her hair is tied up in a bright red handkerchief, a curl of auburn hair escaping to brush over her glowing cheek. She looks up and smiles at Betty. "There you are. I'm just finishing the floor, then we can start unpacking. Doesn't it look lovely?" 

"Yeah," Betty croaks. "Yeah, it does." 

The down payment has almost depleted Betty's savings. She can't afford to put up new wallpaper or furnish the whole house. But she'd much rather live in a work in progress than wait any longer to have her feet under her, her own roof over her head. No nosy hall mates making her life their business. 

Lorna gives them an old dining table and a set of four chairs. "My husband bought it for his bachelor pad. It's been stored up ever since we got the new larger one. I guess I thought one of my boys could have it, when they wanted to start a family. But God knows when that will be now. Better not to waste it," she concludes briskly, and Betty nods, hoping Lorna doesn't notice Kate's large brown eyes widening in undisguised sympathy. 

"Lord, you don't even have a radio!" Gladys exclaims when they've almost finished setting everything up. The bed frames have been dragged upstairs and assembled, the mattresses unwrapped, shelves put up in the living room, and the few kitchen utensils they have are spread neatly in the cupboards. 

"That's alright," Kate laughs. "I'll just sing for us." 

By the time everyone has left, their laughter considerably subdued and their calls goodnight slurred by yawns, Betty and Kate are exhausted. They make cold sandwiches and sink onto the dining chairs. The living room is still largely empty, but in the lamp light it looks cozy -- pictures on the wall, rugs on the floor, and Betty feels filled up with a tentative pleasure. 

"I'm so happy," Kate says, sounding surprised. "I think it will be so much fun, Betty, to live here with you. Oh, I can't wait to make you breakfast tomorrow, and to go to work and know that this is where I'll come back to!" She laughs, and Betty blinks, momentarily lost for words, and reaches out to squeeze Kate's hand. 

They say goodnight at the top of the stairs, and it's only at that point Betty feels her dream state broken. This is not how she imagined it, and she knows she's being silly. She never expected anything else, but she _wanted_ it. 

Her bedroom is ice cold. There's a stove in the corner, but they forgot to light it earlier, and it's nearly too late now to make a difference if she lights it. Her breath is ghosting out in front of her, slipping through her clacking teeth, and even though she's tired from exertion, she can't get warm enough to fall asleep. 

She hears the floorboards creak, and then a knock on her door, but Kate slips inside before she has time to answer. 

"It's so cold," Kate whispers. "My feet are just lumps of ice! Can I come in with you?" 

Betty nods, "Yeah," and Kate is under the covers almost before she's finished speaking. She lets in a gust of icy air as she climbs in, and Betty feels as if she's almost turning to ice herself, even though Kate feels warm and alive so up close. 

Kate whimpers and squirms and tugs her body up close against Betty, who thinks she might never be able to move again. She feels Kate's naked forehead press against her throat, her breath hot and moist against Betty's clavicle, as she jostles them, knocking their knees together several times before flopping limply into the mattress. Then she laughs, "I guess that will teach us to remember to light the fire in advance!" 

Betty nods, tentatively slipping an arm around Kate's shoulder and thinks she'll never light another fire again.

***

There are things about Kate that Betty doesn't learn before they live together. Things she hadn't noticed in the rooming house or during lunch in the cafeteria. She notices them now.

Betty notices the way Kate will absentmindedly set their table for dinner, her hand accidentally setting a knife or the salt tub skittering and the flash of worry as she jerks to arrest the movement and set the object back in its place only to knit her brows and resolutely leave it where it is. 

Betty notices that Kate will never eat porridge. Betty makes it sometimes when she's feeling ambitious, stirring and stirring with great concentration and remembering how her mother despaired of her ever learning to cook. Kate never says anything, but her smile always falters a little when Betty puts the bowl in front of her, and she only ever forces down a few bites before making up some story about not being hungry. Eventually Betty stops making porridge. Her heart simply isn't up for watching Kate put on a show to avoid hurting Betty's feelings. 

Betty doesn't notice that Kate has a carefully calculated system until she tells her one night. Betty is no ace with a pair of knitting needles, but need has taught her enough. She is complaining about the sock she's trying to finish, when Kate laughs and says, "If you put it by, I'll fix it, but I have to finish this first." She's crocheting a square doily out of thin reused cream-coloured yarn. "I've promised myself that for every useful thing I make, I'll make one fickle thing." She holds the nearly finished project up to Betty. "It's for your bedside table." 

Betty notices how much Kate sings. She makes good on her promise and frequently sings when they're sitting up at night. Sometimes her voice is strong and she puts real effort into it, and Betty will lay her book or mending work by and just listen. At other times Kate's song is a staccato performance of stops and starts, an absentminded loop of the same bit of melody repeated over and over again, like a background hum at the back of Betty's mind... Kate will sing at any time; preparing their food or sweeping the floors or as they bicycle to work. But sometimes she'll start on a certain melody and then stop, her voice dying suddenly in her throat, before she willfully starts in on another. 

Betty notices these invisible scars, the ones not marring Kate's skin but her mind. Betty doesn't think of herself as a hateful person, but there is one person whose teeth she'd like to knock out.

***

Two weeks after they've moved in together, Kate places a banknote on the dining table in front of Betty. Betty looks at it with a frown, then up at Kate. "What's this?"

"It's my rent," Kate replies, like she's following an agreement they made. 

Betty feels her heart begin to beat faster. "You don't need to pay rent. I don't need the money." 

Kate's eyes flicker. "But I want to pay you. I know how much money you spent buying this house. I just want to pay my way." 

"I'm doing fine." Betty shakes her head. She feels an irrational irritation coming on. "I didn't ask you to move here for the rent." Stupid, it was stupid, her foolish idea of playing house and taking care of Kate. 

The look of pity Kate gives her makes her stomach churn. "I know that, silly. But it's my home, too. It won't be my home if I'm always sleeping in _your_ bed, eating _your_ food. Put it by for food." 

Betty feels her cheeks redden, and she's not sure whether it's residual, misdirected anger or embarrassment or the unbidden memory of Kate sharing her bed. She nods, keeping her eyes on her hands as she folds up the note. 

Kate moves quickly from her chair to the one next to Betty, putting her arms around her and drawing her close. "Then it's settled. Now it's our home." Betty begins to squeeze back just as Kate pulls away. They turn their faces simultaneously, and for one excruciatingly extended moment they're so close that Betty's vision blurs trying to see Kate. 

Kate smiles, time resumes its progression, and then she kisses Betty's cheek. It's so soft and chaste and perfect that Betty wants to scream and cry and laugh all at once. She smiles back.

***

Everything changes on a Wednesday. Kate is at home, having gone there directly after work. Betty has been running errands for hours, ending by standing in line at the butcher's for an age. She is finally on her way home, ready to kick off her shoes and enjoy a cold ham sandwich, listening to Kate's chatter and enjoying a nice quiet evening.

The small front gate in the rickety fence needs a certain jiggle and lift to close. It's swinging open on its hinges, and Betty finds this strange because it's usually Kate who has just the right technique. She's already frowning when she sees the front door standing open, and a cold rush of dread surges through her. 

She's down the garden path and up the steps in a heartbeat, but once inside she doesn't know what to do. An apprehension cancels her instinct to call out, and instead she pricks her ears for any clue... 

There's a muffled squeal, distinctly Kate's, and a thump-thump-thump of heavy feet coming from the top of the stairs. For a moment, Betty feels her head war with her body, as it wants to canter headfirst towards the sound. Instead she heaves in a deep, quiet breath and moves quickly to the kitchen. 

There are two smashed eggs on the floor. The gas is on, hissing and blue, and a frying pan is sitting on the counter. Betty shuts off the gas and then closes her hand around the handle of the pan, gripping tight, and allows herself the tick of a second to be absolutely terrified. Then she tears the pan off the table and runs upstairs faster than she would have thought possible. 

It's not until she sees him that she realizes she's not surprised. Some part of her mind always expected this, and she was always waiting for him to find them. Was always expecting him to try to take Kate back. But she won't let him. He has his back turned, shoulders wide and hunching under a dark coat, and in this very instant he is reaching for the door knob on Betty's door. 

"Stop!" She hears her own voice, high and shaking, and spares a moment to detest herself. He gives a start and turns, although he must have heard her running. "Get out. You're not welcome here. Get out!" She brandishes the frying pan firmly with both hands. 

Kate's father gives her a look of livid hatred. "Marion!" he roars so loudly that Betty almost steps back. 

"There's no one here by that name," she insists. "You need to leave." 

"Marion, you have lived in sin!" he shouts, completely disregarding Betty even as his wild eyes bore through her. "But come home now, and all shall be put right. You can still be saved!" 

Betty shuffles forward. "Mister, if you don't leave now, I swear--" 

"You'll what, you filthy temptress!?" he sputters, turning now from the door to face her. "Don't you think I know what you are? What this house is?!" 

Betty blinks, furiously. She is trying so hard to stand up to this tyrant, for Kate's sake, but she has never been faced with such pure hatred before in her life. She opens her mouth, not to argue but to insist that he leave when the door to Kate's room opens with a snick. 

The Kate that steps out into the narrow hallway looks calm and collected, and for one terrible moment Betty thinks she has lost everything. Kate's father has turned around. Betty sees him forcibly relaxing his body and it's like he shrinks before her very eyes, making himself sound calm and reasonable. 

"Marion. It is time to come home. Your mother is sick. Your family needs you." 

"My name is Kate," she replies, her voice bitter and hard. "And my home is here, my _family_ is right here." 

Betty feels a reckless joy erupts inside her chest, but it mixes instantly with a sense of dread for what this man might do. 

"Your mother--" 

"My mother isn't sick. You're lying." He gasps at this, but Kate doesn't falter. "Leave now or we'll call the police." 

"You don't have a phone," he spits, so viciously that Betty once again feels the instinctive urge to cower. 

Kate smiles, and it is the coldest and most frightening expression Betty has ever seen on her. "I'll scream so loudly the whole street will hear me. I'll bash your head in, and I'll enjoy it." She takes a step forward, and he actually recoils. "Leave my house, and don't _ever_ come near here again." 

Kate's father turns and tears down the stairs, but Betty only barely manages to step out of his way, still clutching the frying pan like a fool. She's too busy staring at the tears streaming down Kate's face. For one strange moment they seem suspended in silence. Then the front door slams shut so hard that the whole house shakes, and Kate opens her mouth in a voiceless sob and falls to her knees.

***

Later, much later, the house is dark around them. The floor and wall are hard against Betty's backside, but Kate is soft and warm in her arms. They've been quiet for a while now, Kate's crying long since subsided and Betty's shushes having slowly died down.

She is feeling empty, her head light and her eyes sore and scratchy as if she's the one who's been crying. Her whole body aches with released tension, and she doesn't think she'll be able to move. 

"I'm sorry he called you those things," Kate says. Her voice is thick and low. Her fingers smooth over a mend in Betty's coat that she's still wearing. Betty looks down at her drowsily. "I'm sorry that anyone might think that you--" 

Kate's words falter, her voice shaking, and Betty draws her up, puts a hand on her cheek as if that might stem the fresh flow of tears. "No, don't be sorry. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks." 

Kate shakes her head. "It matters if they think you'd hurt me in any way, when you've only been so good to me." She covers Betty's hand with her own frail, cool one. 

Betty frowns. "Shh, Kate, don't--" 

"And it was only ever me, who wanted..." Her voice falters, descending into a quiet whine as two fat tears roll down her cheeks. 

Betty doesn't know whether to cheer recklessly or cry too, as she finally understands. "Wanted what? There is no part of me you could want that I don't want you to have." Kate stares at her, disbelief shining in her eyes. "Kate, I love you! I've wanted you for _so long_ , but I never thought you loved me in that way." 

Kate laughs then, smiling through her tears, and Betty doesn't think she has ever seen anything so beautiful. Wildly, she thinks she never wants to look at anything else in her life.

***

The windows are open. A warm breeze is stirring the flimsy blue curtains. They are sitting on their new chesterfield, which they bought together with all the money Kate put by for food and Betty never touched. Betty is reading a mystery novel, and Kate is knitting in an idle way, humming snippets of songs and intermittently putting her project down and seeming to doze.

Somewhere outside children are playing, and a lawn mower is making noise in fits and starts as someone pushes and stops, pushes and stops. Just now Betty isn't worried about the war, about the bombs they're making and the use they're put to. Right now she is just enjoying resting her feet in Kate's lap, still reveling in the fact that she is welcome to, and that no touch between them has to be furtive here in the home they share together. 

Kate has settled into a groove, as she does sometimes, humming the line "T'ain't Nobody's Business If I Do" over and over again. Eventually she puts the knitting down again, draping the yarn and her hands over Betty's feet. She sighs. "I can't help thinking we should have picked the brown." 

Betty rolls her eyes. "We talked about this. It had the color of you-know-what, and this one was much cheaper." 

"We could easily afford the other. I liked it. It had plushier armrests." 

"You said the blue would match the curtains!" 

"No, _you_ said that, Betty. I said the brown would match the wallpaper." 

"I'm stripping off the wallpaper next summer, I already told you. It's old and ugly and faded anyway." Betty puts her book down. 

Kate looks at the wallpaper. "I like it. It's such a nice pattern." She looks genuinely sad to think of seeing the horrid old stuff go. 

"You're a nice pattern." Betty pokes her thigh with a foot. 

Kate smiles, instantly and without reserve. "That doesn't even make any sense," she says primly. 

Betty gets her feet under her, crawls up the chesterfield and kisses Kate's cheek, her throat, her chin. "I'll show you a nice pattern?" Forehead, eyelid, eyelid, nose, cheek, cheek, chin, ear... Kate sighs, a tiny secret sound that's as familiar to Betty now as her breathing, her smile, her singing. Betty kisses her lips, softly, lingering there just to taste her breath, feel her own blood warm slowly, her heart beat steadily faster.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that one scene in this fic contains abusive language as well as implied and explicit threats of violence.


End file.
